


To Your Soul And Deeper Still

by PepperSeeds



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Marquis de Lafayette, Camping, Connor and Lafayette are HUSBANDS and are IN LOVE, Gift Giving, Hair Braiding, Here To Cater To The Author’s Interests Only, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Language of Flowers, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PWP, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison, Ratonhnhaké:ton Makes Everyone Look Shorter Than They Are, Riding, Sort Of, Soulmates, Tent Sex, Top Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor, as in paying close attention to history so I can redo whatever I dont like, because fuck canon and also it’s what they deserve, its what they DESERVE, laf brushing connors hair makes me weak, stopping in the middle of a retreat to sort of confess your love to your homie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperSeeds/pseuds/PepperSeeds
Summary: ConLaf oneshots I’ll post whenever. NSFW chapters will be marked with a *. Obviously this work is not canon compliant because fuck that. This is everything I wanted for this ship.Also both TH_Writes and aquilaofarkham can be blamed for getting me into this ship in the first place. How dare you both make me have feelings for a fictional man and a very real and also dead man.
Relationships: Adrienne de Lafayette/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens (mentioned), Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	1. * Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I am aware I’m a million years late to this party but yeehaw.

We are lucky the house is empty.

It was an idle thought, drumming against the back of his mind. Connor was certain they never would have gotten to this point were they not completely alone. 

Currently, Lafayette was splayed on Connor’s bed, panting and flushed with his legs spread. The room smelled heavily of the lavender-scented oil the marquis brought for this and he could see remnants of its use dripping down his lover’s inner thighs, painting them with shine and a slight yellow hue. The most, ah, appealing part of this display, at least in Connor’s opinion, had to be Lafayette’s face. His red hair was tossed about every which way, sticking to his forehead. His lips were bitten red, his cheeks pink, and his eyes wide. Good God, his eyes. The blue stood out sharply against the rest of him. Connor wasn’t sure if they made his body look redder, or if his body made his eyes look bluer. Either way, Lafayette was rather pretty, like this. 

“I think,” his lover stuttered, “that I rather want you in me, now.” 

Thankful for the fact he had long discarded his clothes, Connor shifted from the edge of the bed. Despite Lafayette being on the tall side, Connor dwarfed him, finding it incredibly pleasing to loom over his lover. He settled at Lafayette’s side, running his right hand up and across his lover’s chest to cup his cheek and kiss him. The lavender fragrance was more pronounced, this close, but he could taste the marquis now, too. His lips were warm, and his mouth held the remnants of the wine the two shared beforehand. Eventually, reluctantly, they parted. Connor let himself be pushed down so Lafayette could sit atop him, feeling the slick oil transfer to his hips from where he was straddled. 

Connor feels the marquis rock back and forth above him, rubbing for the barest hint of friction before rising up. They’d talked about this at length, having sex like this. Connor had no experience at all and everything Lafayette knew was second-hand, advice given to him by a mutual friend of theirs. Hamilton had recommended the preparation as well as the position, but Lafayette stated that it was Laurens who gave him the oil. In the end, nothing could have readied Connor for the act itself. He stopped breathing if only for a moment, to watch Lafayette grasp him and sink down. At once all focus was lost, all he could feel was warmth. It was a welcome sensation, if overpowering, he was only brought out of his thoughts by the marquis grasping his wrists to bring Connor’s hands up. They settled on Lafayette’s hips, just as flushed as the rest of him but pale in contrast to the copper of Connor’s hands. 

“Mon Dieu,” Lafayette rasped, smiling, “all I can feel is you.”

“I am not hurting you?” Connor asks, gazing up at him with concern.

“You are within me,” his lover states, “that is what matters.”

Connor’s response was to smile in return and rub circles into his lover’s skin. Being engulfed in such a way was a very new, but pleasant, sensation. The marquis gave a small twist of his hips, settling himself, Connor hissing in response. In retaliation, as it was only fair, Connor gave a sharp jerk of his own. Lafayette gasped, mouth falling open as he clawed at Connor’s chest. His expression quickly turned heated, however, and he bit his bottom lip with a grin. Connor, breathless beneath him, was far too dazed to notice anything until he felt Lafayette rise and sink back down again. His thighs were taut and through the fluttering of his own lashes, Connor could see the way he disappeared into his lover. There was something intoxicating about the way Lafayette moaned as he set his pace, bouncing up and down with the occasional coo of Connor’s name. Unconsciously, he dug his fingers harder into the marquis’ hips. 

Overwhelmed by it all, Connor wasn’t certain how much time could be passing. To him, there was only this, the world reduced to the man writhing in pleasure above him. It was almost foreign, to think that there was a time that such intimacy would have made him shrink in on himself. Though nothing changed with the marquis, his marquis. It was no surprise the man could take charge. There was no hesitation, not even here. Lafayette was used to running into unknown territory, perhaps that was what made him seem a natural at nearly everything he did. 

At once he is pulled from his thoughts with a sharp cry from above him. Connor is alarmed for only a moment, before realizing it was a cry of pleasure and not of pain. Lafayette, if at all possible, seemed more flushed than before, the red high on his cheeks. It was as if Connor struck something within him, and he eagerly pushed back to create such a sensation again. Again he was nearly lost in the feel of the act, but not as severely as before. He can focus enough on desire other than his own to bring a hand away from Lafayette’s hips. It settles at the apex of his thighs and a singular, languid stroke sends the marquis keening, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains himself. Connor decides, then, how they will proceed. He has never been a selfish man, wanting to give more than he receives. He keeps up the motions of his hand, working his own hips in tandem. 

The reward of his actions is that Lafayette quickly dissolves into incoherencies, sounds neither French nor English. It only served to spur him on, however. He rose and fell much quicker than before, digging his nails into Connor’s chest for purchase. In all likelihood, they would leave marks. There are barely seconds after this thought registers before Connor can feel himself getting closer to release. Whether out of selflessness or for his pride, he squeezes harder and snaps his hips to find the spot that made Lafayette moan before. The suddenness of it takes him off guard as Lafayette sinks onto him for the last time, mouth agape as he spills over their stomachs. Connor inhales sharply before allowing sensation to overtake him. 

The world fades into nothingness and he is gone with the feeling of spilling within his lover. Distantly, he knows his head has fallen back against the pillows and his torso stings, but none of it matters. All he knows is Lafayette, warm, welcoming, and whole above him. It takes him a minute, maybe two, to fully return to himself. The marquis has collapsed against Connor’s chest, pants slowing to a more manageable rhythm. Connor wraps him in his arms and presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. They are still joined, and he would be more than content for it to remain that way, but time is not endless. He slips out rather smoothly, Lafayette letting out a low moan at the action. They both seem to come to the mutual conclusion that not moving sounds very pleasant. 

“Je t’aime,” Connor mumbles, the words moving through his chest. He feels Lafayette smile against his neck. 

“Konoronhkwa,” He responds, syllables lovingly memorized despite the remnants of his accent. It makes Connor smile, to know he cares so much. They rest for a few more moments. 

“We should clean up,” he says after a while, shifting out from where he was pinned. Lafayette hums in response, exhausted. When Connor turns to look at him, he’s propped himself up on one arm with a lazy smile on his face. His gaze moves lower, and he finds himself overcome with possessiveness at the sight of his seed leaking out of his lover. He turns back to focus on dipping a cloth in his basin and ignoring the want rising in his chest. It strikes him, as he crosses the room, that he can still smell lavender. He likes the scent, even if it is incredibly strong, finding it suits Lafayette rather well. Perhaps, the next time he sneaks into camp during the middle of the night, he should bring the marquis flowers. He’s seen lovers around the colonies doing that for one another. 

Once Connor returns to bed with a wet cloth, he cleans them both up as best as he can. The cloth is tossed to the side when he is done, and Connor lies back down and lets Lafayette tuck himself under his arm. His lover splays a hand across Connor’s chest, trailing his fingers across the red scratches there, before furrowing his brows as if struck with a sudden thought. Connor looks at him in askance, the marquis huffing indignantly before burying his face into Connor’s neck. He can feel a smile against his skin, barely hearing Lafayette’s next words as he begins to run his fingers through his sweat-soaked red hair. 

“We are going to smell of lavender for weeks.”


	2. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flower giving, hair braiding, and stopping in the middle of a retreat to confess your love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got kinda sad idk how that happened.

The first time he brings Lafayette flowers is at Monmouth. 

He hasn’t announced his presence, not yet. A few of the men knew he had arrived, but with luck, Lafayette would remain ignorant for a few minutes longer. His tent takes some effort to sneak in to, but Connor has managed worse things. The Sight helps him a great deal, and he would rather not crush the flowers he brought. They had endured their journey well thus far and Connor hoped they would be well received. 

Lafayette’s tent is small, filled with only the essentials, and Connor is quick to place the flowers on his pillow. They are called ‘crimson-eyed rose mallow’ and the petals are soft beneath his fingers. He remembers picking them out of a swamp, meeting a young woman on his way out. Surprisingly, she was cordial to him, asking if he knew what the flowers meant. His face had gone scarlet when she laughed, telling him that she always heard of them meaning charm and youth. Apparently, they were something given to first-loves, at least in this area. In the end, they didn’t introduce themselves and simply parted, but he silently thanked the woman for telling him. He has never loved anyone as he loves his marquis. The flowers, he hopes, will tell him that. At the very least he hopes Lafayette thinks them pretty. 

Later, when the worst of the battle is over, Connor deals with Washington. The ache of betrayal sits low in his gut, twisting. He refuses to fight for the man any longer. Once, perhaps, he thought they could have been friends. He knows better, now, but that does not make things any easier. 

He does not admit it to himself until much later, but the sight of Lafayette exiting his tent with one of Connor’s flowers pinned to his uniform allowed the pain Washington left behind to ease, if only slightly. He pretends not to notice the wistful smile on the marquis’ face as he brushes gloved fingers over the delicate petals or the way he stares at Connor’s retreating form. They are given only a singular moment to themselves here when Connor is about to mount his horse once to leave this particular battle behind him.

“I appreciate the flowers,” he hears from behind him, the smooth French accent easily giving away the speaker. Connor chooses to ignore the slight heat in his cheeks before he turns around. 

“I am glad,” he responds, the edge of his lips curling up ever so slightly. There is a pause, Lafayette seeming to consider his next words carefully before speaking. 

“I have also heard,” he starts, shifting his eyes down to the flower on his coat, “That this flower carries a particular meaning.” Lafayette’s face reddens, the shifting of his boots in the dirt giving away his nervousness. Connor swallows the lump in his throat, suddenly grateful for the other soldiers avoiding the two of them. 

“Whilst I cannot claim to know the details regarding the various, ah, rituals around it…” he stops, suddenly, looking up at Connor once more. The marquis seems satisfied with what he sees in Connor’s face, namely a look of longing and noticeable blush. He continues, “As far as I am aware, they are appropriate gifts to one’s first love?” The question in his voice is clear, though his true query makes itself known in his eyes. Connor keeps up with eye contact despite the increasing desire to turn and flee. He has gone into unknown territory before and steels himself for whatever answer the marquis will give him. So he summons his courage and nods.

“They are,” he replies, “Is this acceptable, to you?”

Lafayette lets out a relieved sigh, posture relaxing as he adopts a gleeful smile. “Yes, yes,” he responds, “It is more than acceptable, it is wonderful.”

Then someone calls for Lafayette and he bids Connor farewell with a grin on his face. Connor mounts his horse to ignore the desire to kiss the marquis. 

He can see the man’s smile in his mind’s eye all the way back to the Homestead. 

The first time Lafayette brings him flowers is after Fort George. 

He feels exhausted after it all and can still feel the slick of his father’s blood on his hands. His heart hurts, but it is nowhere near as painful as when he lost his mother. He comforts himself with the thought that it was just another Templar, but even that does little to help him. Connor feels numb, resting as he is. His father’s journal does little to ease his conscience. The guilt nearly swallows him whole, until Lafayette arrives at the manor with a bouquet of both light and dark red carnations in his arms. 

It is a relief from the monotony of the last few days. The two of them end up speaking for a few hours about anything that takes their mind off of the outside world. Connor eventually tells Lafayette of everything that had been plaguing him. He does not remember when or how the marquis ended up in his arms, nor does he know which of them was the first to shed tears. What he does remember is Lafayette settling him into a chair, nearby the carnations rest as a bright contrast to the rest of his bedroom. Connor’s thoughts only reorder themselves after he feels the delicate teeth of a comb sliding through his hair. 

“I remember,” Lafayette starts, “When I was very young, growing up with a very large garden.”

Connor stays quiet, content to listen and let his hair be brushed. The marquis seems dedicated to his task, anyhow. 

“There was an entire area dedicated to red roses. I loved to put them in my hair whenever I could. My grandmother often scolded me for pricking my fingers in the process,” He said, the smile that was probably on his face evident through his words. It made a delightful image, thinking of a small, disheveled Lafayette with roses in his hair and fingers even redder from picking them. The comb stops moving, suddenly, and the marquis moves to collect a few of the flowers he brought. He’s smiling, now that Connor can see his face, though his eyes are still slightly puffy and pink from tears shed. When he stands behind Connor once more, he sections off two pieces of hair from either side of his face. 

“What are you doing?” Connor mumbles, though he makes no move to stop the action. 

“Putting flowers in your hair, what else?” Lafayette replies, weaving the left section of Connor’s hair with the carnation’s stems. Their conversation halts there as the marquis continues to work. It is not long before both of the sections are half-braided with flowers. Both sections are joined together into a singular braid at the back of Connor’s head, more flowers being added along the way. Connor only recognizes how much he enjoyed Lafayette’s fingers in his hair once they are gone. 

“There you are! I do believe you look a great deal better in flowers than I do,” the marquis says, circling Connor a few times to marvel at his handiwork. He helpfully brings over a small mirror as well, so that Connor can see how he looks. The carnations stand out sharply against the black expanse of his hair. 

“I like it,” he smiles up at Lafayette, before rising to his feet. There are a few moments where Connor considers the two of them, here and now. Standing this close he can count the freckles that dot the marquis’ nose and cheeks. 

He would have stood there all day, perhaps, had Lafayette not cupped his cheek and pulled him down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember everyone, the best way to tell your French bestie you love them is by bringing them swamp flowers and awkwardly stepping around actually saying you love them whilst in the middle of retreating. Feel free to leave suggestions in the comments for future chapters, next one up should be another nsfw one because there isn’t nearly enough porn of these two. 
> 
> BTW, light red carnations mean admiration and dark red carnations mean deep love. I googled all of this though but honestly who cares.


	3. * Woodland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having sex in the woods + sappy romance + a bit of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the marking chapter, also hair pulling. Enjoy!

The ride from the Homestead to Connor’s planned campsite takes them a few hours. The distance it puts between the two of them and anyone else is not wholly necessary, but he wants to make sure there is no chance of anyone catching them. They both know the nature of their relationship could have them killed. Besides, being away from everyone else means that Lafayette can be as loud as he pleases, as the man seems to enjoy being vocal in a more intimate setting. Connor likes hearing him, too, no matter how badly he blushes at the thought. 

When they finally reach their scheduled place of residence for the next few days, Connor can hear the marquis let out a small gasp as they enter the clearing. A lake stretches out before them, banked by trees and filled with the chirps of birds. The water sparkles in the summer sun and Connor lets out a chuckle at Lafayette’s surprised expression. Dismounting their horses, they make quick work of setting up camp, the marquis occasionally making longing glances at the water. 

“Do you know how to swim?” Connor asks once camp is set. 

“A bit,” Lafayette replies, “I do not often get the chance.”

Connor gestures to the lake and raises an eyebrow, to which his lover replies with a laugh. 

“Only if you will join me.”

The summer heat is no help in resisting, they help on another out of their clothes between kisses. Lafayette gives Connor a final kiss once their task is completed, dashing off towards the water with Connor at his heels. It’s a wonderfully cold contrast to the heat of the air and they barely make it a few feet into the water. The marquis runs his hands through the lake’s shining surface before spinning around to place his wet palms against Connor’s cheeks to pull him down for another kiss. He places his mostly dry palms against the base of Lafayette’s spine. It is when, between laughing and kissing, that his lover pushes Connor’s hands just lower, that he knows their evening is far from finished. 

Dusk comes far quicker than either would have liked. The pair had spent their day basking in the joy of being able to touch one another as freely as they wished. They swam, kissed, ate, and kissed some more. They stand by the remnants of the fire, Lafayette wearing one of Connor’s shirts and Connor in nothing at all. His heart feels so full when the marquis wiggles into his embrace and lets Connor place his jaw atop his head. 

“ _J’taime_ ,” he says, the words muffled against Connor’s skin. “Never forget that.” 

“I will not,” he responds, leaning back just enough to kiss his marquis again. “Only if you do not forget it either. _Konoronhkwa_ , forever and always.”  
Lafayette smiles up at him before cupping his cheek. His palm is warm and soft, an easy thing to lean into. They stay like that for a moment, admiring one another, before the marquis presses an open-mouthed kiss to his neck that makes Connor’s whole body shudder. 

“Make love to me tonight,” he says, bringing his arms up to wrap them around Connor’s shoulders in the way he knows will entice Connor to pick him up. He does, grinning as his lover’s legs wrap around him and his stolen shirt slips off one shoulder. He carries Lafayette back to their tent, placing him down on the bed of blankets they’ve made. The pale skin beneath him is flushed pink, and he kisses his way down from the marquis’ neck to his chest and stomach, delicately removing the shirt and tossing it aside. Connor lets out a soft moan when a hand find’s its way to his hair and tugs. Lafayette is breathing heavily but stops Connor long enough to make a request. 

“I want you to mark me,” he stutters, voice strained with arousal, “I want to command my men with a reminder of you on my skin,” giving another soft tug to Connor’s hair is all it takes. There is barely a point of hesitation before he begins sucking a bruise just above his lover’s hip. Lafayette lets out a gasp, head falling back while his hips twitch upwards. Moving a hand from his thighs, Connor strokes the marquis at a leisurely pace. He moves up to place another mark on Lafayette’s stomach, pointedly ignoring the ache between his legs. They have plenty of time here. 

Lafayette spills over his hand when Connor adds a bruise to the inside of a thigh. He shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm before tugging on Connor’s hair again to bring him up for a proper kiss. The part for a few moments, long enough for Connor to wipe off his hand and wrestle the oil they brought with them out of his pack. Floral scents suit Lafayette better than they have any reason to, the vial of rose-smelling oil fills the tent with a pleasantly soft scent. When he returns to kneel between his lover’s legs once more, he finds the marquis grinning at him. 

It isn’t difficult to work Lafayette open anymore, Connor has long gotten used to doing it. His methods aren’t quite methodical, but he remembers from countless encounters of the best ways to make his lover go limp beneath him. He likes giving pleasure, no matter how much Lafayette insists on paying back everything he’s given. Connor finds the feeling of bringing him off akin to that of successfully finishing a mission, that of a job well done. It leaves a pleasant weight in his chest, to know he is doing well. The way Lafayette digs his short nails into Connor’s shoulders as he works is rewarding also, the crescent-shaped indents he leaves behind never last as long as Connor wants them to. 

He slicks himself with more oil once the marquis is sufficiently stretched and panting beneath him. Once he enters, he feels Lafayette’s heels dig into his back. He’s pulled down for another kiss, and his lover’s hands are back in his hair. His breaths come out heavy after he starts canting his hips. They lose themselves quickly to rhythm Connor sets, the pace only ever faltering when his hair is pulled on. He turns his attentions to sealing his lips over Lafayette’s collarbone, suckling another bruise into his skin. His lover responds by digging his fingers deeper into Connor’s hair. 

“ _Oh mon dieu, chéri, s'il te plait_ ,” he cries, fingers scraping against every piece of skin they can. Connor gives no verbal response, save for the soft gasps that make their way past his lips. He picks up his pace, gripping Lafayette’s thighs hard enough to leave indents in the shape of his fingers. The marquis is loud, head tossed back and his moans fill the tent. It’s intoxicating, the way he twitches his hips searching for more. His skin is reddened, speckled with purple, and he is the most beautiful thing Connor has ever seen. They finish a few moments after, each other’s names on their lips, and everything is as it should be if only for a moment. When they are done, cleaned and wrapped around one another with only the sounds of the forest, Lafayette breaks the silence with a whisper. 

“I want this as my forever,” he says, idly twirling a strand of Connor’s hair about his fingers. “I want to fall asleep to you. I want to wake up to you. I want…” he does not continue. He does not need to continue. Connor pulls him closer and kisses him again. They both know they cannot have forever, these few days shall have to be enough. 

“Do not miss me before I am gone,” Connor insists, tilting the marquis’ chin up to look into his eyes. “I would rather have this than not know you at all.” His marquis smiles again, like the sun through clouds, and he knows he loves him more than anything in the world. They fall asleep so tangled in one another they are almost one person. It will never be enough for either of them, but they will make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to do proper angst soon. I also need more of Laf wearing Connor's clothes, they make him look tiny. Sure he was tall for the time, like ~5'10, but Connor is a certified Big Man. I think he's like 6'4. Height differences make me weak. Come to think of it I need to write interactions between a 6'4 Connor and a 5'7 Hamilton some time. Ham was tiny but Connor makes him look even smaller.


	4. Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They cannot marry, but laws have never stopped Connor before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History: Lafayette was in prison for seven years
> 
> Me, aggressively writing: Ding dong you are wrong
> 
> Prison breaks! Wedding gifts but not really! Husbands! 
> 
> yeehaw

When they stumble up to stairs, drunk from their evening, they collapse on Connor’s bed laughing. The world seems a thousand miles away. Lafayette’s face is red from the alcohol, Connor is certain he doesn’t look any better. They’re barely able to wriggle out of their clothes before curling around one another. It’s messy and uncoordinated and so, so perfect. Connor doubts they’ll be able to fall asleep at this rate, giggling like children about nothing at all. It’s like this, smothering his laughter against Connor’s chest, that Lafayette speaks. 

“In another life, _mon amour_ , I would have married you,” he slurs, words on the edge of incoherent. If Connor was even close to sober, the words would have hurt. If he was close to sober, he would be aware of the fact that because they are both men, because Connor is native and Lafayette is white, because Connor is a commoner and Lafayette is an aristocrat, that they cannot marry. But he has lost count of how much wine he drank, so all he can think of is their conversation about how Lafayette snuck into the Colonies. 

“You would look better in a wedding dress than me,” he says, but the marquis is already asleep. 

The day before Lafayette will return to France for who knows how many years, Connor gives him a bracelet. It’s made of leather with delicate beadwork that took him a good few weeks to perfect. The blue of the beads goes well with the ivory of his marquis’ skin. In return, he receives a dark red ribbon covered in embroidered flowers. He ties the bracelet to his lover’s right wrist and has the ribbon tied to his hair in turn. He can barely remember the not-quite-conversation about marriage they had, the night is mostly a blur. What he can remember is that Lafayette wanted to marry _him_ , if he could. They are not quite wedding gifts, but they are enough. It is not until later when his marquis is gone and Conner unties the ribbon before going to bed, that he notices small stitched letters spelling out ‘I love you’ beneath an embroidered rose. 

He does marry, in time. His wife is a wonderful woman and he cares for her dearly, but he does not know if he loves her. Connor is reminded of all of Lafayette’s mentions of his wife, Adrienne. 

_“I will return to her, and to my children, gladly. I would die for them all, but my heart does not beat for her as it beats for you.”_

He is not content with the life he now has, but he will live with it. His marquis is an ocean and a revolution away. Connor wonders if the letter he sent, telling of his marriage, has been received. Just as well, he wonders if his lover could read between the lines he wrote, to the true meaning of _‘I miss you’_ and _‘I want you’_. Most of all he wonders if his marquis had the thought to ask, that he would gladly operate his brotherhood out of France just to return to his arms. 

But he does not ask, even if he knows. Connor does not go to France. They stay parted for a good few years, Connor haunted by dreams of a marriage to a man he cannot have and a life he will not live. 

He receives a letter in the winter of 1792. It is addressed to him, specifically, and marked to be opened by no one else. The strangest part is that it comes from a woman he has never spoken to before. Adrienne de Lafayette’s delicate penmanship does nothing to hide the worry behind her words. 

_I have heard a great deal about you from my husband for many years, as he holds a great fondness for you. Should this letter reach you at all, I can only beg of you to come to Europe and to my husband’s aid. He is being held under the accusation of treason, I myself am a hostage within my own home. If half of what I have heard of your skills is true, my husband’s life may very well rest in your hands. Should you find the chance, if you care at all, I beg of you to save him._

He spends an hour reading and re-reading her letter, nearly sick to his stomach with worry. He is more than aware of the bloodshed in France, but he had no idea how his lover had fared these past few months. When his wife finds him in his study, face buried in his hands, she is the one to convince him to go. Whilst she lacks the combat training of the Assassins, she is more than capable of running his brotherhood for him, having done so for brief periods of time before. But this could take years and his heart tears in two at the idea of leaving his wife and children or Lafayette behind. 

His wife dries his tears and has him on a boat within the week. 

Paris is in chaos when he sneaks into the city. He does not trust the Parisian brotherhood to aid him in what is ultimately a personal matter, so he takes everything he might need and then some to operate as he has for many years: alone. Connor keeps his hood up, masquerades as many men he is not and is out of the city far later than he would have liked. Lafayette was not lying when he said France had a black heart, but Chavaniac is much calmer than the city. 

The Château de Chavaniac is guarded, of course, but none of them expect him. It is easy enough with his Sight and his training to hang off of the roof and knock against a window. The marquise startles, turning around to face the window. He is barely outlined against the night, but she seems to know him anyway. She opens the window to let him inside before quickly shutting it. 

“You must be Connor,” states the marquise, posture lax and relief plain to see on her face. She has been confined for some time, and he can see how the stress has eaten at her. He gives a slight bow. 

“I am,” He responds, and it takes her a moment before she turns to one of the room’s chairs and collapses. She gestures to the seat across from her, and he eases into the motion. He knows he must present himself as no threat to her should he be able to learn anything at all. Each second he is not actively working to find and rescue his marquis is a second wasted and he needs all the time he can get. 

“He is being held at Magdeburg, that is all I know,” she says. Her voice is low and filled with sorrow. 

“That is more than enough, marquise, I thank you for your assistance,” Connor responds, clasping his hands together to hide the fact they shake. Magdeburg is so far from where they are now, and it could take weeks to get there. The thought of Lafayette being moved before Connor arrives makes him go cold. This is not a task allowing for any measure of failure. 

“Bring him to where he can be free,” she begs, standing up on shaking legs to cross over and press her hands to his. “Give him my love if you cannot return him here. Lord knows France is far from safe…” the marquise shudders out a sigh, and he can see tears forming at the corners of her eyes. 

“I will,” he promises, squashing his aversion to touch where it bubbles in his chest, just enough to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, “I swear it.”

He is surprisingly fond of Austria. Mostly due to the Austrian brotherhood’s help, but the scenery of the country is a calm, welcome sight to the filth that was Paris. Valentina, an Italian Master Assassin just older than he is, has been shockingly kind to him. She is, by her own admission, the last to carry the Auditore name and the fortunes that come with it. It is due to her work that the Austrian brotherhood sympathizes with him at all, even sparing a good few of her most trusted students to smuggle the rest of Lafayette’s family out of France and into her castle. If all goes as planned, the marquise and her daughters will arrive a few days after his lover. 

Connor manages to steal a record of the guard rotation at Magdeburg’s prison, where his marquis is being kept. The cover of night, as well as guards nearing the end of their shift, is what will give them the element of surprise. Valentina has a carriage with horses fast enough to get them out of the city’s reach before daybreak. Now all that is left is to wait for a new moon so that moonlight does not give them away. 

“Our night will be soon,” soothes Valentina. Their hideout on the city’s edge is calm, letting Connor’s thoughts run rampant. “He will be back with you soon enough, even if it is not as soon as we would like.” He twists the red ribbon in his hair, the embroidery soft against his fingers. It has been with him for years, frayed and discolored, but he can never bring himself to get rid of it. Valentina observes the motion, smiling at something or other, before leaving him to his thoughts. 

It is later, when Connor is tossing and turning, unable to sleep, that he realizes. They had spoken English to one another, Connor’s German wasn’t the best, and Valentina spoke German with a heavy Italian accent. He did know she spoke French and could likely read the lettering on his ribbon. She made no comment, however, and that was enough to ease his mind on the matter. 

The night air is cool against his face, what little of it is not obscured. Valentina exits the carriage after him and their young driver, an Assassin by the name of Lukas, bids them a silent ‘good luck’ with a nod of his head. Were they breaking a fellow Assassin out of prison, perhaps they would have scaled a wall. His marquis is no Assassin, a horrid thought if there ever was one, so they cannot count on him being well enough to climb down the side of the building. It’s a decently-sized stone structure and was crawling with guards. Valentina picks the lock of a side door, entering with Connor at her heels. 

“Can you retrieve his things without being seen?” He whispers, voice so low he can barely hear himself. In the dark of the room, he can just make out the far-off look on her face. Valentina shares the Sight and uses it just as much as he does. 

“I can if I am quick about it. Release your friend first, I will meet you at the carriage if I do not meet you here,” she whispers back. They part ways after this, Valentina sneaking deeper into the fortress whilst Connor moves beneath the ramparts. He can see Lafayette there, with his Sight, glowing a warm, welcoming gold. The hallways soon make sneaking past the guards an impossible task, but he knows well enough that these men have little say in matters like this one. He made sure his skin was fully covered before knocking the first guard unconscious. No amount of fabric can hide the broadness of his frame, but his skin color is the most identifiable part of him. 

The two guards outside of his lover’s cell are just as inexperienced against an Assassin as their fellows. They are swift to fall to the floor with nothing more than a gentle thump. He retrieves the cell key from one of them, placing it in the lock and opening the door with a click. The creaking hiss of the hinges is far too loud for Connor’s liking. He wants out of this place as soon as possible. There is no light source in the room itself, he has to rely on the residual light from the hall, but that is enough to make out the shape of Lafayette in the room. He knew before that he wasn’t asleep, but seeing him braced against the wall is not something he ever wants to see again. He pulls down his hood and mask to make himself known. 

_“Ratonhnhaké:ton?”_

Then he is gone, rushing to his lover to press him into his arms. Lafayette makes a soft wounded noise that makes his heart shatter. He’s smaller than Connor remembers and his skin is frigid. He does not want to consider his marquis’ treatment, he just wants to cradle the man until he is no longer shaking. It is an ill choice, but a quick check with his Sight makes him remove his coat. He steps back just enough to put it around Lafayette’s shoulders, but the soft ‘don’t go’ that his lover whispers is what pushes him past the edge. The tears flow freely from his face, particularly at how much smaller Lafayette looks now. 

“ _Vite_ ,” Connor says, putting one of his lover’s hands in his, “Before the guards are aware again.” 

Lafayette pulls Connor’s coat tighter around himself with his free hand, and follows Connor out into the night. They meet with Valentina after they enter the carriage, she’s carrying a bag full of things and another sword strapped to her belt. She gives the signal to their driver just as the fort becomes aware that something may be wrong. The four of them are off before Valentina even closes the carriage door. 

“Your personal effects are in the bag,” she states. Her voice is still low, likely out of concern for Lafayette’s state. It is the worst Connor has ever seen him. His eyes are far off, and there is no expression on his face. His conscience eases somewhat when he notices his marquis’ stupor has been broken by Valentina’s words. He seems almost frantic, detaching himself from Connor’s side to dig through the bag for a few moments. He almost asks why, before he notices. Lafayette pulls a familiar blue bracelet out of the bag, leather worn and missing a few beads, but he would know his own work anywhere. The red ribbon is still in his hair, and seems to grow heavier at the back of his head. 

Valentina still says nothing, though her eyes betray her knowledge of the situation. Lafayette calms once the bracelet is back on his wrist. They spend the rest of the ride in silence, his marquis tucked into his side, asleep. They reach Valentina’s castle sometime near midnight, Connor carrying Lafayette to the room that was prepared for him. He expects to leave him there until morning comes, but Valentina places a hand on his shoulder just before he leaves the room. 

“Your place is here, at his side,” she states, firm in her tone. “You shall find no judgment from me or my staff.” 

He nods, relieved, and Valentina leaves them to their evening. Connor doesn’t think it wise to remove his coat from the marquis’ grasp, as he’s holding on to it, even in his sleep, like it is his life. His face is scrunched with worry, pain, or both. Connor removes his outer layers before tucking himself and his lover under the covers. Lafayette stops shaking once he is back in Connor’s arms, and Connor finds he can sleep again. 

Connor wakes first, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. His stomach tightens for a moment before he looks down, Lafayette pressed against his chest. It was not a dream, his marquis is safe. He presses a kiss to the top of his head and caresses his cheek. It would not have normally woken him, but his sleep must not have been as sound as it originally seemed. Blue eyes flutter open, confused at his surroundings, before making contact with Connor’s face. There is a moment of recognition and silence before Lafayette bursts into sobs. All Connor knows to do is cradle his cheeks and speak softly. 

“I have you,” he whispers, almost reverent, “I have you.” 

“ _Tu m’as_ ,” Lafayette whispers in return, voice shaking as French bubbles from his lips. “You have me, you have me, _je t’aime_ , you have me…” 

His hair is a mess, tangled and unkempt. His face is paler than it has ever been and he feels almost skeletal through his clothes. The smell of mold clings to him, but he is alive and he is whole. Connor draws back, planning on going to the door to ask one of Valentina’s staff if breakfast could be brought, but his lover scrambles to keep him in his arms. The tears come again, flowing down his face and marking the pillows with droplets. 

“Please, please, please, do not leave me again…” he begs, but his voice is soft and his grip is weak. 

“I am not, I will not. I was going to ask if food could be brought, but I have to get up in order to do so,” he replies. In the end, they compromise, Connor standing and bringing Lafayette under his arm to walk to the door. Valentina beats them to it, however. She is smiling softly at them but scowls at their state. 

“I will have breakfast sent to you and a bath drawn,” she says, raising an eyebrow in a challenge from the doorway. Connor mouths ‘thank you’ to her as she vanishes from the room. Lafayette looks awful, Connor wisely sitting him back onto the bed. 

“Who is she?” his marquis asks, staring at the door. “A fellow Assassin,” Connor replies. 

It isn’t long before servants arrive with Valentina just behind them. The fireplace is lit and the bathtub placed just in front of it. In Valentina’s arms is a few of Connor’s things, placed by the door. The tub is filled with water and a few soaps and washcloths placed away from the fire. Then, as quickly as they had come, everyone exits, Connor and Lafayette are left alone once more. His marquis doesn’t seem to mind parting with his coat, as long as it’s Connor who’s taking it off of him. The rest of his clothes follow soon after, ending up in a basket to be washed later. The bracelet is more difficult to get off of him, though. He only parts with it when Connor unties the ribbon from his hair and places it with the bracelet on the nightstand. 

His marquis lets out a relaxed sigh as he settles into the water, the heat bringing some much-needed color to his skin. Connor settled behind him, picking a comb out of the many things brought, beginning to work on Lafayette’s tangled hair. They sit in near silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the fireplace and Connor’s gentle humming. His lover speaks, eventually, even if his voice is still just as strained as it was before. 

“All these years, you kept it?” He asks, looking over at where Connor’s ribbon resides. It’s in remarkable condition, thanks to Connor taking meticulous care of it. 

“I did not want to leave you,” Connor answers, “That was all of you I had left.” 

Lafayette makes a pleased sound. Connor knows if he does not say it now he may never get the chance, especially not once the marquise and her daughters arrive. He knows, has known, that they cannot marry. They both have wives that they care for dearly, but Connor knows he would be utterly lost and alone in the world without his marquis out there loving him. But he is an Assassin, the laws outside of his Creed have rarely meant much. 

“I have had plenty of time to think, these past few years,” He starts, wrestling another tangle out of his lover’s hair. Connor’s chest feels heavy with the weight of his words. “I know we cannot marry, but I do not require documents and ceremonies to tell me what to believe.” His marquis startles, pulling away from him to spin around in the tub. Connor worries, for a moment, that he’s said something wrong. They are both still reeling from the previous night, he knows, but then Lafayette cups his cheeks and wets his face with a smile. 

“My husband,” he says, eyes wide and grinning like a madman, “ _Mon mari, mon mari_ , my husband,” Lafayette repeats the words like a prayer. Connor drops the comb to the floor so he can wrap his arms around his marquis and bring him into a hug, tilting his head to kiss him properly. Water splashes out of the tub and soaks his shirt, but the warm body in his arms is kissing him with all the ferocity in the world, so Connor can’t say he cares. He can feel tears against his face, but his Lafayette is laughing again. 

“ _Tiakení:teron_ ,” he says, once they separate. The wait was agony, but he would wait a thousand lifetimes for Lafayette to look at him like _that_ again, like Connor is the world. He loves his husband more than life itself. He loves his accent, the way both of his names sound on his lips, the freckles on his face, everything and anything. Lafayette smiles at his awed staring, before leaning up and planting a chaste kiss to Connor’s nose. 

“You are all I desire,” he whispers, “You are all I need.” 

The world could wait for them a little longer. 

When the marquise arrives, Lafayette rushes into her arms. There is no spike of jealousy in Connor’s chest, he knows his marquis’ love for him does not diminish his love for her, and vice versa. When she pulls away, it is Lafayette’s daughters that end up in his arms next. The marquise strides past her husband, wiping the tears from her eyes to pull Connor into an embrace as well. He returns it, noting how much healthier she looks. According to Lilli, one of the Assassins sent to retrieve the marquise and her family, they were all days away from being sent to prison. Nothing in France awaited them all but the guillotine. Lafayette had mentioned that to him, a few nights prior, and Connor offered to bring him and his family back to America. The marquise liked the idea, stating that they could reunite with Georges when they arrived. 

Things were far from ideal, France was in turmoil and the surrounding countries were getting more worried by the day, but Connor’s husband was safe, especially now that he had three more people to fuss over him. Valentina bids them farewell as they set sail for Boston, Connor promising to write once they arrive safely. 

Connor smiles as the waves caress the side of the boat and his husband discreetly covers one of Connor’s hands with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Adrienne so fucking much you have no idea. I wasn't originally planning on making an OC for this story, but I don't know dick about the Austrian brotherhood so bam! Valentina Auditore is a bamf and also a lesbian because I say so. Anyway, Connor and Lafayette are married and that's that on that! This chapter was nearly 4,000 words of me going 'actually fuck history' to let my boys be happy. I think I'll write more nsfw next. Connor definitely has a thing for Laf in heels and skirts. Maybe he dresses all ladylike for spying or something and it’s just:
> 
> Lafayette: *is in high heels and a frilly dress for some reason*
> 
> Connor: *Connor.exe has stopped working*
> 
> Knee-high socks were a thing too, those could be good with the whole heels/dress aesthetic. hmm...


End file.
